"No, you don't," objected Anderson. "Two's quite enough for this blessed job. Look 'ere: if I don't come back, there's a letter in my pack wot I wants sent 'ome. Anythink else you can 'ave, fags an' all. I'm going to 'ave a doss. Turn me out at twelve." "Rum chap," commented Alderhame, indicating the soundly sleeping Ginger. "A regular rough diamond, always ready to do a pal a good turn." "By the by," said Setley. "You did me a good turn when my bayonet got hung up, although you nearly split the drum of my ear when you fired and brought down the fellow who was about to club me." "Every little helps," said Alderhame. "Lucky for you the Hun wasn't on my left side." "Why?" enquired Ralph curiously. "Simply because I'm stone-blind in my left eye," replied the ex-actor composedly. "I was passed for Class A just the same. When I told the doctor he merely remarked: 'Oh, left eye, eh? Well, a man almost invariably shoots with his right eye!' 'I'd sooner shoot with a rifle, sir!' I said. 'And so you shall, my man!' he rejoined, laughing at my repartee; so he marked me down for general service, and here I am. I'm not at all sorry. If I come through this business it will be something to be proud of, you know." All was quiet between the opposing lines. The Huns, realizing the superior weight and volume of fire of the British guns, wisely refrained from inviting them; while the latter, massed until they were practically wheel to wheel, were silent, concentrating their energies for a terrific tornado of shell as a prelude to the rush of the infantry "over the top." At midnight the two volunteers were roused from their slumbers. "Still of the same mind?" enquired Penfold. "Not 'arf," replied Ginger, while Bartlett nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders in the characteristic way that he had inherited from his Polish ancestors. "We'll speed the parting guests," declared Alderhame, with a forced attempt at joviality. "Me lud, your carriage waits." "Chuck it!" retorted Anderson. "'Ere, gimme me baynit. Look arter me rifle till I comes back. Now, Sidney, old sport." Setley, Penfold, and the ex-actor accompanied them to the front trench. Like men about to dive into icy-cold water the two raiders paused, with one foot on the fire-step; then without a word both wriggled silently and cautiously over the parapet. Ten seconds later the intense darkness had swallowed them up. Braving the piercing cold the three men awaited their comrades' return, peering at intervals over the top of the parapet and straining their ears to catch the faintest sound of their movements. Twenty minutes passed, but neither by sight nor sound did the twain betray their presence in the forbidding No Man's Land. Suddenly the darkness was pierced by a short shriek of mingled pain and rage, the thud of blows falling on some soft object, and the unmistakable squelching of many feet in the tenacious slime.